


Too Spooky

by dindindin



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Ghost! Jean, M/M, POV First Person, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 03:31:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4164084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dindindin/pseuds/dindindin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean’s an obnoxious ghost who spends his time acting like a fool because no one can see him. That is, until someone does. Eren wants nothing more than to get the damn milk his sister wanted without having a supernatural entity follow him around.</p><p>He hopes he doesn't have to go on a goose-hunt to find out why Jean can't move on. Because fuck that.</p><p>-----------</p><p>“Relax, no one can see. It’s one of my ghostly powers.”</p><p>“Ghostly powers? Are you being serious right now? At least give it a name. How long have you been dead, anyway?”</p><p>I realize that even if people can’t see the milk floating around, they can see me talking to air. Would they call the police for that?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Spooky

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo. This is an attempt at something slightly comedic. It's not going to be all fun and giggles, though, as you can expect from a romantic story in which one of the two main characters is dead. But don't expect it to get overly angsty, that's not my goal.

My day had been all dandy – until Mikasa send me after milk (who even needs milk at night?), and I begrudgingly set out to the nearest supermarket. Which, considering we were in the smackdab of nowhere, was farther than I’d gone all day (which had been the fridge. Far enough for me).

So I was trudging along, ignoring the rustling of leaves (no, I was not scared) and keeping my pace. One step, two steps. I wish I had a Fitbit with me. I’d have bragging rights over everyone else with the distance of my trip.

The roads are dark and abandoned. Which isn’t surprising considering it’s 2 in the morning in a suburban neighborhood. The latest people go out around here is 9 o’clock. Probably. Anyway, the roads really are dark, like in a horror movie. What would be the scariest thing to get me? I don’t care too much about vampires, but I’d guess a bloodsucker appearing in front of me, fangs bared, might be somewhat scary.

I curse Mikasa once again for sending me on this journey. I think I understand how Harry Potter felt like when he had to go hunting for the horcruxes. Or, you know, not. Because that sucker had Hermione with him. All I have is a phone with 10% battery, if not less. And I’d text Armin, but it’s 2 in the morning. Let’s face it, he’s not going to be awake. I’m not going to text Mikasa. Fuck her. OK, no, she’s my sister and I adore her… But milk, really?

Annie is still mad at me for beating her in a fight. It was once! Shouldn’t I have more right to be angry at her that after five years, I’ve only beaten her once?

Connie is with Sasha. Or Sasha’s with Connie. I don’t really know where they are, but I know they’re with each other. Connie and Sasha are both inappropriate. I’m not texting them when they’re doing who-knows-what. Last time, Connie told me they had tried something out with food. I’m not sure whether it was sex-related or not, but admittedly, I don’t care enough to find out (and I don’t want to be scarred any further than I am from growing up with the internet).

I’m not close enough with Reiner or Bert to be texting them at 2 in the morning to lament my sister’s dairy addiction. Although it might be a good idea to shock Reiner. He has this crazy, angel-like image of Mikasa. I think he’d be surprised to find out she poops.

Levi… Yeah, that’s not a good idea. He might not be asleep yet (or he might. I don’t know. Levi’s a weird guy), but if he is, he’s not going to appreciate my musings. Well, he’s not going to appreciate them either way. Maybe I should text him.

 **To Levi:** I have been forced to get milk by our sister. Rescue me.

The answer is almost immediate.

 **To Eren:** Are you a princess? A maiden in distress? Poisoned by your step-mother?

 **To Levi:** No?

 **To Eren:** Then rescue yourself. I’m not getting out of my bed for anything less than those.

 **To Levi:** You don’t even like girls!

 **To Eren:** Texting you makes me question my sexuality.

As you can see, Levi is sort of a douche. To tell you a secret, he used to be affronted when someone cursed. It was cute, really. Whenever Grisha slipped through a “shit” or “fuck”, Levi would be right next to him, admonishing him for doing so. And now he’s this cursing powerhouse with a catalogue as extensive as a dictionary.

He’s still cute, though. Don’t tell him I said that. He’d kill me.

I can see bright lights beckoning for me to come closer. The neon signs are blinding, but so, so welcome. I have made it, alive, at that!

The store has more people wandering around than I’d expect from this hour. Then again, here I am as well. Maybe there are fellow suckers here, forced by their relatives in exchange for _not_ getting an ass-kicking.

There’s a guy standing near the produce, juggling three apples and failing miserably. An apple rolls on the ground. The guy doesn’t even bother picking it up. Even worse is that no one’s saying anything! A woman has been judging pears the whole time without even throwing him a glance. Come on – do stores at 2 a.m. attract so many bizarre people that nothing fazes these battle-worn shoppers anymore?

The guy looks at me, brown eyes turned to slits. I decide I want to avoid all conflicts possible and act like I was looking at an aisle sign. I mean, they always warn about murderers. And this guy looks he could be one. What a vicious look, and then people tell _me_ I look angry!

Oh, right, milk.  
  
“Prize for ugliest bag goes to you, ma’am.”

Wait, what? I turn around again. It’s definitely the guy’s voice. That’s something I knew even before I looked – it fits him, it’s low, slightly husky, and has a hint of arrogance in it. If he yelled, he’d probably be intimidating. Not to me, obviously, but in general.

The woman (who’s indeed sporting one ugly bag, it has a leopard or whatever print on it and it’s entirely too big) acts like she hasn’t heard a thing. Her face doesn’t even betray that she heard it. There’s no movement on her face: no furrowed brows, no sharp looks, no twitch of her lips. It’s almost like she hadn’t heard it. Which, if it was the case, was lucky for the guy (who I’m calling Jackass from now because “guy” is entirely too undescriptive and I feel like “jackass” embodies the whole dude).

Jackass continues as he spots another victim. This time it’s an older guy, probably around his fifties. He has an unfortunate big nose, plastered on an overly round face. There are wrinkles around his deep-set eyes, alongside dark bags. His nose is red. His clothes are wrinkled more than he is, with a loose tie hanging from his neck. The bottle of scotch in his hands explain enough.  
  
“Ah, a deadbeat old fuck. Someone wants to bet how long it takes him to drop dead? A fiver that he’s not going to survive crossing the street.” Again, no facial movement. The guy continues on his way.

Okay, maybe Jackass has gotten lucky yet again. Maybe this guy has had a rough week, knows entirely too well what kind of state he’s in. Maybe he’s even feeling guilty. Could be possible. Not all drunkards are aggressive. Personally, I’m more of a clingy drunk.

I found that out when I woke up with a gigantic shiner after Levi had slugged me when I tried to nuzzle up to him. Apparently, he’s not too much of a fan of that. I avoided him for a few weeks after that.

Anyway, Jackass has stopped abusing produce and walks further. I act like I need something nearby and follow him, stopping a little beyond where he’s standing. When he does the same thing (this time judging a teen for being out so late) and he gets no reaction, I start wondering whether this store’s for the deaf.

“Hey, Jackass,” (Because that’s his name until someone proves me otherwise), “What do you think you’re doing?”

Or at least that’s what I wanted to say. Because suddenly Jackass is floating. Or gliding. Or whatever you want to call it – he’s moving in the air, hovering a couple centimeters above the ground. He looks around, giving everything and everyone the same condescending look. For five seconds I wonder whether he’s God and He’s finally going crazy. Then I remember I’m an atheist and, therefore, don’t believe in deities.

Our eyes meet again. This time, I don’t look away. He stares with astonishment and loses whatever momentum he had, tumbling back to the ground. I wince as I see the fall, but I don’t plan on coming closer to whatever he is.

Jackass stands up and rubs his head. In the process of doing so, a couple strands of bleached hair stick up. The combination of that and his undercut make me wonder how he’d look as a punk. Probably not too bad. He has a longish face, but it fits. His hair has two colors that would look stupid on most people, but I guess there are exceptions to every rule. He does look pretentious. But not bad.

I remember when I tried doing something new with my hair. Unlike Armin, long hair does not suit me. At all. It’s unfair how the world works, sometimes.

“You can see me.” His voice is a monotone droll. It doesn’t even sound like a question. Usually, I’d be all for turning away and thinking “that guy is nuts, get away”, but there’s something about floating that makes it more possible for something (supernatural) to be going on with him.

“Well, yeah, I’m not blind.” I cross my arms, taking a defiant stance. If he happens to be some kind of demon or evil spirit, what could I do against him? Would he notice if I looked that up on Google quick? I reach for my phone, but before I can take it out of my pocket and turn on my internet (because that costs money), he coughs. It sounds forced and I can see the tips of his ears turn red.

“I’m kind of dead,” he says, eventually. Zombies don’t float, right? So does that mean I’m safe or what? Wait, what kind of other undead creatures exist. Come on, Eren, you’ve seen enough horror films in your day. You should be an expert at this!

“Uh.” Sometimes I think I’m a bit of a genius. This is not one of those times. My capability to be eloquent at all times has failed me, it seems. He takes a look at me, one of those long looks – I’ve seen Levi look at me that way enough times to know that he’s calling me stupid without words. Yep, Jackass fits the bill.

“I’m a ghost.”

I uncross my arms, feel vulnerable, and cross them again. It’s 2 a.m. and I’ve just walked who-knows-how-many miles to get fucking milk and here’s this (slightly handsome) guy claiming he’s a ghost. Wonderful.

“Okay, good for you. Nice to have talked, but I have business to do.”

Jackass sighs. “My name’s Jean.”

“Hello, Jean.” I wave, turn around, and count to ten while walking away. I don’t even make it to four before a hand stops me. Wait, are ghosts supposed to be able to touch people? Maybe this is all an elaborate prank, starting with Mikasa forcing me out of the house for _milk_ and ending with a guy pretending to be a ghost. Well, ha-ha-ha, funny.

But whatever I wanted to answer is left on the tip of my tongue as Jackass Jean (alliteration, even!) jerks away, staring at his own hand with his mouth open. I don’t dare to comment on how stupid he looks.

I lied, I dare. “That’s a hand. Good boy, you can touch things with it!”

“I’m not supposed to touch people. Objects took me years to master. I-I’ve never been able to do this before.”

Shit, am I seriously assisting a ghost on his road to self-discovery? Or maybe-ghost. I mean, if he’s not, he’s an incredibly convincing actor. But I’ve seen Punked and random Youtube pranks before.

“Dude, this is big. You’re the first person I’ve been able to talk to or touch.” He looks excited for exactly ten seconds (and it’s actually a nice look on him. It looks less condescending), before his face scrunches up again. “Tell me you’re not a ghost yourself.”

“Do I look like a ghost?”

“Do _I_ look like a ghost?” He refutes. That “are you stupid?”-look is back and I can’t say I’ve missed it. He sighs (again), as if he’s dealing with a petulant child and points towards the produce section. The woman from earlier, with the leopard-print bag, is looking at a pumpkin.

“Go talk to her. We’ll know if she answers.”

It’s a stupid idea because I’m not a ghost. And I definitely don’t need to please this dude. Then again, he’s a ghost. Aside from party tricks, who says he’s not capable of worse things? It’s not like I’ve met a ghost before. At least, I don’t think so.

I stride towards her. Sensing my intent, she turns to look at me. I point at the pumpkin. “It’s not the season for pumpkins right now.” What am I even saying?

She glares at me (and I want to point at her face and smirk at Jackass, because I’m _not a ghost_ and this proves it). When she passes (the pumpkin clutched in her arms), she shoves against my shoulder. Quite harshly, as well. Why am I the one to suffer here?

I walk back to Jackass. “See? I’m alive and well, thank you.”

He shrugs. “You never know.”

What do I even say now? I don’t need to keep him company; I need to get milk and get back home. I tell him as much.

“Oh, okay.” That went entirely too well and I don’t trust his smirking face even a little bit.

My suspicions are proven correct when Jackass follows me around the aisles as I search for milk. Honestly, I never go shopping. I have no idea where to look. Is milk kept cool?

Jackass is quiet (which surprises me). I’ve already gotten too used to his company and turn around to see him holding a carton of milk. From the look on his face, I wager he’s been carrying it around for a while now.

“How?” _Do I even want to know?_ Wait, if he’s been dragging it along, that means that people will have seen a carton of milk following a teenager around. That would not bode well for me (would people think I’m a wizard or what? That might be cool. For a minute. After which they’d probably call the police).

“Relax, no one can see. It’s one of my ghostly powers.”

“Ghostly powers? Are you being serious right now? At least give it a name. How long have you been dead, anyway?”

I realize that even if people can’t see the milk floating around, they can see me talking to air. Would they call the police for _that_?

Jackass ticks on his chin. Basic mathematics seem above him; he’s counting while staring at the ceiling. I can see the numbers forming on his lips. Not that I’m looking at his lips. It’s simply something noticeable. No reason behind it.

“I think it’s been five years now. Yeah, that should be it…” He looks away from me. I don’t plan on asking ( _I don’t care_ , my inner Levi emulates), but it seems like I’ve hit a sore topic. Well, I guess that’s death for you. Who knows what happened to him. Maybe some kind of freak accident. Or something really, really stupid, like falling down the stairs because he was wearing socks and breaking his neck.

I snicker. He glares in return. Oops.

“Sorry. Not laughing at you right now.” It’s the least I can do. He sighs yet again and I feel like I should be keeping count. Do ghosts have money? If so, maybe he can drop a coin in my personal funds every time he does that. I want to ask him, but he’s still not looking too well.

That solves one of my questions, though. It seems like he remembers what happened, if the look in his eyes is enough proof – that means it’s _not_ my task to go around asking people if they know of the death of one Jean about five years ago. I’ve read stories like that before. It sounds like far too much work.

Especially with a ghost like Jean. His little funk is over; the same grin he wore when he was insulting passersby is back. It’s equally parts conceited and annoying.

“You look like an idiot,” I tell him. It’s more of a mumble as I’m standing near the cashier, but I know he heard it.  
  
Jackass looks down at me. Literally. He’s floating above my head now, arms crossed. The stuck-up loop from before, when he was all grins and not much else, is gone and replaced by an even more condescending glare.

He doesn’t counter with anything and I’m almost about to say _good riddance_ when his head appears right in front of me. I drop the money in my hands (and quickly scramble to get everything before it rolls away). The cashier looks doubtful that I’m sane and takes the money after some careful consideration.

“I’m not dangerous,” I say, trying to justify my behavior. Jackass’s laugh brings me back to reality and I realize I’ve put my foot in my mouth. I can now be labeled a creep, maybe potentially dangerous, by this poor soul working far too early in the morning. He stares at me, pushes some change my side, and promptly decides to do something else.

I’d probably do that as well. You do you, poor cashier, sorry I’m adding to the list of weirdos you must meet every shift.

Jean is still laughing. I swear, I’ve known him for twenty minutes max and he’s already higher on my shitlist than Mikasa when she steals the last pudding in the fridge. On top of that, he’s turning out to be one of those guys who laugh at something generally unfunny way after it has lost its funniness. I’m not salty.

I want to hit him but I’m not sure if I can… And swinging at a ghost (aka a non-corporeal being) after acting shifty might actually alert the poor cashier (who’s stealing glances at me while I’m putting my change away) into calling the police. How would I explain that to them? _Oh, sorry, I didn’t meant to be disruptive, but this ghost – yes, ghost – I met earlier thought it would be funny to surprise me. So I decided to hit him, because my temper is kind of bad._

I decide to wait until we’re out on the streets – back onto the dark streets with rustling leaves and almost no light, to ask him. Then I realize that I’m expecting him to follow me. Wait, what if he decides to continue bothering me for the rest of my life? Imagine me hooking up with someone and he narrating the thing like he was commenting on people at the shop.

_Ah, and the dude with short black hair is now advancing on the subject, Eren Jaeger, with a predatory ferocity. Oh my, things are getting steamy! How will Eren react to this? Mewling sounds? Color me surprised!_

Ew, ew, ew. I do not want that to happen. And do ghosts sleep? I mean, we have a guest bedroom, but what if Armin sleeps over? I don’t think either of them would appreciate having a bed partner. Or maybe Jackass would. If he can mess with objects, he might try his best to scare Armin.

Now that I think of it. I’ve never told him my name. “I’m Eren Jaeger. Can I touch you?”

“Wow, didn’t think you’d be that frisky. C-Can we take things slow? I’ve been… out of touch, you see.”

That shit-eating grin is plastered on his face like he’s the fucking Joker. I decide to take my chances and punch him in the face. Who knows, it might end up favorable for me. After all the bad luck of the past day, something should go in my favor, right?

Scientific research has now shown that I can hit ghosts. Now we know he's not only capable of touching me, but I'm capable of touchim him as well. Apparently, they _do_ feel a semblance of pain. And they bruise. Ha! One for Jaeger!

“Fuck! Jaeger, why the fuck? What the fuck?” Ah, he’s as eloquent as I am. He seems a bit confused. He’s looking at me, brown eyes squinted, a hand rubbing at his cheek. His jaw looks red. I wince. I’ve been in enough fights to know how much that can (and will continue to) hurt.

“I think I’ve hit you,” I say, enunciating every word. Maybe he’s a bit slow. Or the five years of being dead have affected him too much. He looks like he’s never been punched before. Which I can’t believe – the dude is an asshole. I know I’m not the only one who has ever hit him. He must have had a queue of angry people walking behind him all the time waiting for a chance.

“No shit, but how?”

Maybe he’s really a bit slow. “I brought my fist to your face with force.”

The glare is back. So far, this guy has shown me three faces. Either he’s grinning and/or smirking, laughing (at me, mostly), or he’s glaring like a petulant child who has been punished (I should know, because I’ve had that same look plenty of times before).

“Fuck you,” he mutters, but it seems like he has something of more importance to tell. “People can’t touch me. No one has been able to.”

I want to tell him he has never been able to touch others either and we established he could touch me earlier, and therefore this i not too far-fetched, but I keep my mouth shut.

“Don’t tell me I have to help you. This sounds like the start of some cheesy movie in which _I_ have to do all the work to help you move on.”

“Beats me.”

Oh, joy. Does this mean I have some kind of powers or something? Because if that power is seeing arrogant ghosts, please count me out and give me something better.

"I guess I'll follow you around until I find out more. Good idea, huh, Jaeger?"

...

Please?

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> If you see any kind of mistakes, feel free to notify me of them. I know I sometimes leave out words/use the wrong tense and I don't always notice those things immediately. Other critical comments are (obviously!) allowed as well.


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